Old Habits
by Catsboys
Summary: Bruce and Selina discussing her sticky fingers before a night out (One-shot)


The ownership of all characters related to and involving this work of fiction remain the sole property of _DC Comics_ and any affiliates. No copyrights have been infringed on maliciously.

~ Old Habits ~

Curling the brush beneath the sweep of my eyelashes, I ran the mascara wand upward with a flick of my wrist and repeated the motion until the lashes were completely coated.

Leaning closer to the large mirror attached to my dressing table, I checked with a critical eye that there were no dark smudges left behind. Touching up on a few stubborn follicles, I returned the wand to its bottle before blinking quickly to dry; satisfied with the way the dark fringing and thick underscoring of liner framed and emphasized the exotic slant of my luminous green eyes.

Finishing the final touches of a light powdering of foundation and slightly darker shadowing over the lids, the affect was natural, but still sophisticated enough to blend in with the high society of Gotham's elite.

Normally I wouldn't go to such painstaking lengths to make sure that my appearance was flawless, but the gala tonight was the biggest on the Wayne Foundation calendar. Every eye in Gotham, and camera from around the world would be on the CEO of Wayne Industries, Bruce Wayne, as he attended the charity that had been founded so long ago by his late parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne.

Unfortunately, those same eyes would also be on his wife…_me_.

Rubbing my thumb absently along the underside of my wedding rings, the thought was almost enough to send me scrambling for cover. Even after a year of having to deal with the exposure of public scrutiny forced on me through marriage, I still wasn't entirely comfortable with the spotlight. Career criminals never were, so for the events I was obliged to attend, like tonights, it was a special kind of torture…in more ways than one.

For the old Selena, this type of event would have made her larcenous fingers twitch in eagerness. A ballroom packed with rich, gullible fools just waiting to be fleeced…what woman with a dubious past and questionable morals wouldn't shiver in excitement? The more they drank, the faster their guard lowered, and the bigger the target they became. It was child's play really.

But the old Selina was gone, and the new Selina no longer played those kinds of games. She was now a retired cat burglar – a very, very, _very_ reluctantly retired cat burglar, who, if she wanted jewellery, could buy it herself with her terrifyingly large credit limit, ask for them, or survive marriage for a year to get them as an anniversary present from her husband.

Picking up the narrow square case on the table, I unhooked the latch imbedded in the dark red leather and lifted back the lid to view just that gift. Given to me just over a week ago, the wreath necklace was a circling of platinum inlaid with delicate floral clusters of pear and marquis shaped diamonds. Catching like flares of the starlight beneath the low light in the bedroom, it was an extraordinary piece of jewellery that would be seen in public for the first time tonight.

It wasn't simply an accessory, but a statement piece.

I knew what that statement was, and although I didn't entirely agree with it, arguing with my husband over his display of ownership would mean giving back my diamonds; so for the moment, it wasn't a disagreement that I was going to have.

Hearing the powerful jetting of water from the shower begin to peter off from the adjoining bathroom, reminded me that I was meant to already be dressed. Patting down a few wayward stands of hair that was cut pixie-short and darker than midnight, I picked up the simple diamond studs whilst a gentle breeze floated into the room; stirring the lace curtains and bringing in the warmth of the night.

The manor was quiet, but that wasn't unusual. Damian was already in town, Alfred would have dismissed the household staff for the night, and the others would meet us at the gala later. The only sounds around us were the nocturnal foraging of the creatures in the vast woods…and the padding of bare feet from the bathroom.

Glancing upwards, my fingers fiddled with the stud at the lobe as the mirrored image was filled with the broad-shoulders of Bruce Wayne. Rubbing a towel roughly through his damp hair and over his face, another towel was wrapped around a torso that rippled tautly with sinew and slabs of muscle.

Just above the tight knot of the towel at his left hip were scars crisscrossing over skin that should have been smooth, but had been marred by the countless encounters with those who had thought to terrorise his city. Old, flat and white, they signified the sacrifices Bruce had made since he was a young man in order to keep Gotham safe from the likes of…well, from the likes of me.

I had left my fair share of those scars on a body that I knew as well as my own, and it made my heart ache in a way that could only mean that I actually had one.

Shifting uncomfortably on the cushioned stool as I tried to deal as uncomfortably with emotions that until eighteen months ago I had been very, very good at ignoring, my fidgeting fingers picked up the other stud as I watched Bruce. Whipping away the towel as he shook out hair that was only slightly longer than my own and just as black, he ran his hands through it a few times before slinging the damp cotton over his shoulder…and stopped where he stood as he took in the sight before him.

Dressed only in heels, garters and a pair of panties that were little more than a scrap of silk clinging to my slender hips, I wasn't deliberately trying to provoke him, or at least, I didn't think I was.

It was a bad idea either way; God only knew it would take me at least half-an-hour to re-apply all the makeup, and we didn't have the time, but something in me enjoyed stretching the limits of his unflappable self-possession whenever I could. And there wasn't any place more enjoyable than in our bedroom, when the cowl came off and the Bat remembered that he was a very mortal man beneath it.

Arching a brow in sardonic amusement, Bruce negligently tossed aside the smaller towel and leaned over me, placing the flat of his palms against the polished surface of the wooden dressing table and trapping me against it. Feeling the moist heat of him spread from my nape to the small of my bare back, the shiver that tingled down my spine wasn't just from the change in temperature.

"Is something wrong with your dress?"

Glancing over at the masterpiece of full-length structured lace and silk hanging on the wardrobe door, I shook my head slowly at his question. "No, nothing's wrong with the dress. Why do you ask?"

"Because you're still not dressed, and the car will be here in fifteen minutes."

Sweeping a hand down the length of my near-naked body, I met his cool blue gaze in the mirror. "How do you know that I haven't changed my mind and decided to go like this instead?"

"Because if you have, you're going to kill half the donors the second you walk through the door, which isn't really the point of the evening," Bruce stated dryly.

Running my tongue along my teeth to stop from smiling, the effect was ruined by him gently stroking the pads of his fingertips along my exposed clavicle. Shivering at the feathering sensation, the jolt of current sizzled through my nerve endings. Puckering along the skin in gooseflesh, the shiver ended at the tip of my breasts, hardening them in anticipation.

Smirking slightly at the sight of how his touch affected me, how it had _always_ affected me, he kept the contact light as he nodded towards the diamonds. "You're wearing that tonight?"

Nodding, I swallowed against a dry throat as he reached around with nimble fingers and lifted the wreath from its resting place, deftly unclasping the safety catch. Sliding the cool garland of glittering diamonds around my throat, I felt its weight settle against my skin.

"I did thank you for this, didn't I?"

"You thanked me for three straight days, Selina."

Grinning at the delicious memory, my fingers brushed against his and the thick band of his wedding ring. "Well, never let it be said that I don't appreciate my husband…or the jewellery he buys me."

Laughing softly, Bruce bent to string light kisses along the length of my shoulders, nuzzling the clasp at the nape of my neck with the tip of his nose before resting his chin atop my head. Massaging gently over my collarbone, his fingers circled over the hollow of my throat, beneath the garland. Coasting downwards, the slightly damp heat of his calloused palms turned the shiver from before into a shudder as I arched to his touch.

Cupping my breasts, the roughened skin of his hands rasped against the satin-smooth skin and hardened the tips until blood throbbed painfully beneath the skin. Circling his thumbs against the nipples, the sensitive flesh swelled and pushed demandingly against his fingers. Pinching gently at first as he manipulated the nubs with an experienced touch, he knew exactly how to touch me…how to drive me crazy with the merest graze of his fingertips.

Clenching my legs tightly together against the pressure building between my hips and the weeping heat between my thighs, the flood of ecstasy through my bloodstream was almost too much to resist, but somehow I managed to think through it long enough to do just that.

"Bruce…_Bruce_, if you carry on with this, we're going to be late. _Again_." Catching at his hands, I tried to stand, twist out and away from him, but he wrapped his arms around my chest and pulled me back against his own, trapping me completely. It was during times like these, when he wanted what I playfully resisted, that I fully appreciated just how strong he was.

"We're newlyweds," he whispered as he nibbled gently on my earlobe. "They'll understand."

"They're Gotham high society." I argued weakly, whimpering softly when I felt the gentle nip his teeth against the slender arch of my throat and the thrust of his bulging erection at my hip. "They won't."

"And that's a problem, why?" Bruce asked without much concern, kissing his way down my neck.

"They have rules, Bruce. Rules that I can pretend still don't apply to me, but since you put these on my finger," wiggling my ring finger, the diamond encrusted bands caught in the light the same way the necklace did. "They do."

Resting his chin atop my head again, his gaze was piercing and inescapable in the reflection of the mirror. "I don't expect you to play by anyone's rules except your own, Selina. It was one of the conditions we negotiated before we got married, remember?"

"If that was true, Bruce, I would still be able to continue with my…_extracurricular activities_."

Arching a brow at my choice of wording, he turned me in his arms before pushing aside the stool with the side of his foot. Crushing me gently against his hard chest, I managed to free my hands before he trapped them between us, and sighed in quiet pleasure at the feel of his hot chest gently abrading my sensitive nipples.

"Your extracurrilular's aren't necessary anymore. Speaking of which…please promise me that you're going to keep your hands to yourself tonight."

Twisting my mouth disdainfully at the gentle reprimand, I pocked him in the chest with a perfectly manicured nail. "I haven't lifted anything in months."

"Months, you say?" Nodding gravely, Bruce gently strummed his fingertips along the small of my back in a way that sent more shivers shimmying up my spine. "So when Viviane Van Derhoven's diamond bracelet went missing two weeks ago at the Gotham Restoration benefit dinner, what exactly would you call that?"

Grimacing slightly at the reminder, I cleared my throat as my accusatory finger turned into a guiltily caressing one, answering loftily. "Technically speaking, that wasn't a lift."

Cocking his head curiously, his eyes narrowed a little. "It wasn't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because my husband made me put it back!"

Chuckling quietly at my indignant rant, Bruce pressed his lips to my temple. "She would have eventually noticed that it was missing, and then what, hmmm?"

"Would she? She hadn't even realised that her bony wrist was bare of that beautiful bracelet by the time I slipped it back on. It's a pity really." Fingering my wreath, I frowned in regret at what might have been had I not been caught by the one person who knew to watch for my wandering fingers. "It would have matched this perfectly."

"I will buy you a dozen diamond bracelets if you stop the petty thievery. Like you agreed to do before we married."

Scowling at the memory of a promise I had made when I had been too distracted to think straight, by the time the dust had settled, and I had begun to realised what I was promising…what I was giving up, I was halfway down the aisle, and it was already too late.

I had tried of course, for him, but admittedly, there had been a few…_slip ups_ in the early months of our marriage. Mostly he had looked the other way, but on the occasions when he couldn't, he had made me put whatever I had _borrowed_, back.

"Petty?" I deflected with deliberate flippancy, ignoring the all too familiar urge to fall back into a habit that I was afraid I would never be able to fully shake. "Do you know how much I would have made off that bracelet if I'd fenced it?"

"Selina."

"All right, fine." Grumbling against his chest in defeat, I heard the gentle warning harden into something that signalled the beginning of an argument, and right now, I didn't want to fight with him. This event, more than any other, was important to him, and I didn't want anything ruining it. "I promise that I will keep my hands to myself tonight."

"Thank you." Feeling his fingers stroke over the back of my head, he tilted it back gently to look into my eyes. "I know that you're trying, and that it's the oldest habits that are the hardest to kill. I do appreciate the effort…and the struggle."

"Hmmm…I may hold you to that part about buying me a dozen diamond bracelets, though."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Why?" I challenged sarcastically. "Because you know me so well? Because I'm _your_ old habit?"

Cupping my chin, Bruce bent to press his lips to my own, murmuring against them. "No, Mrs. Wayne…because you're my _favourite_ habit."


End file.
